Celus
by Cieleste
Summary: In an attempt to ally with the vampires, Grindelwald's plan backfired, causing a chain of events that changes a certain green-eyed child's life. SLASH. Mult. Pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

I am away from home and actually started the other chapter to my other story, alas, I forgot to bring it. Oh well. At least I'm writing something. Also, there's going to be slash.

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><p>Abraxas knew he was well above his peers. Well bred, with silver-grey eyes and long, platinum blond locks elegantly tied to the side—these hereditary traits were predominantly found among the pure-blooded, esteemed members of the Malfoy family.<p>

The Malfoy family was, of course, the best of the best. They built strong networks with most, if not all, pureblooded families, and were conspicuously rich. The Malfoys held seats in the Wizengamot; as such, the laws concerning purebloods and traditions were well controlled, as the Malfoy's influences in the Ministry was deep rooted and long-standing.

Their noble family was well-versed in the Dark Arts—the most wild, and vehemently powerful type of magic known to the wizardry world. Unfortunately, due to the Dark Lord's influence, it is now associated with evil, greed, and insanity. A mere mention of such dark magic would spur hushed, trembling whispers and recounts of unadulterated fear as the war gradually spread across the world.

Their dear cousins, the Blacks, were known for their mastery in the Dark Arts. Their creative expressions with such magic contributed greatly to the unadulterated fear associated with it. As such, the Dark Lord Grindelwald personally requested for both families' services. It was the highest honor for both parties, as the position was held in high regard.

With the purebloods on the side of a great, powerful lord, there was no possible way for the Dark to lose.

The Malfoys _always_ chooses the winning side.

After all, the Malfoys were the best.

.

A resounding crack echoed across the once silent Malfoy manor, jolting Abraxas from his reverie.

_'It must be father,'_ Abraxas thought, _'as the wards would never let anyone but direct blood relatives to enter.' _A loud thump and sounds of glass crashing alerted him, causing great curiosity in him as he gently closed his book.

"What could it be?" He murmured. His father was the picturesque representation of immense elegance and nobility. There would be _no possible way_ that he would make such a commotion.

Frowning, he picked an invisible piece of dirt off of his finely tailored coat, muttering about noisy, useless elves, before standing up from his exquisitely crafted seat in the family's library.

As he started to head towards the source of the clamoring, an ear-splitting, high-pitched keen erupted within the building, causing him to collapse in pain from the sudden noise.

Tightly closing his eyes, Abraxas curled into himself as he gritted his teeth, attempting in vain to block out the sound with his hands.

After a few seconds of what seemed like an eternity to the young heir, the sound abruptly stopped. Releasing a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Abraxas blearily opened his eyes.

_'What in the name of Merlin was **that**?'_

Slowly pushing himself off the soft, luxurious rug to stand, he delicately cradled his head, groaning as he became lightheaded from the moderate change in elevation. His head throbbed relentlessly, serving remind him again of that blasted sound that mercilessly pierced his temples.

A slight 'pop' to his left caused him to grimace, as his eardrums were still quite sensitive to sound.

The nervous elf shifted from foot to foot before apologizing profusely. After bowing and spewing more apologies before Abraxas's deathly glare, he finally informed him that his presence was required in the family's private chamber. After hurrying to the chamber, what met his eyes paralyzed him.

His father, tattered, bloodied, and heavily breathing, was holding a shivering creature with inky black wings in his arms. The creature's dark, messy curls, sordid from the mixture of blood and sweat, clung to his milky, pale forehead, covering his eyes as he trembled in what seemed like immense fear. Blood red lips parted to make a soft whine, as his trembling hands clutched the remains of his father's robes. The creature's eyes seemed to nervously shift around his surroundings, strewn with shards of cracked glasses and vases.

"_Abraxas._"

His mother snapped him out of his daze, thinning her painted lips as she motioned him to come closer.

Careful to avoid the glass near his expensive, dragon hide-clad feet, Abraxas cautiously maneuvered himself towards his mother, wondering why she didn't banish the mess.

"He's scared of any use of magic. That's what caused the mess in the first place," she softly said, as if sensing his thoughts.

Nodding, he turned to the creature in his father arms. Aware of the new set of eyes on him, the blood-stained creature tensed as his wings stiffened around him in preparation for a flight or fight response.

"Shh..." his mother soothingly said, "he's here to help you."

Abraxas stared confusedly at his mother, having absolutely no idea of his role in this predicament. What in Merlin was h—

"_Give him your blood."_ A hoarse voice broke his thoughts.

Abraxas gaped at his father. "B-but...Father! I don't know wha—"

"_**Now!" **_Lord Malfoy snarled. Having little patience for his son's hesitance in the matter, the Malfoy Lord grabbed the young boy's arm, forcibly pushing his embroidered coat's sleeve up to reveal pale, unmarred skin. Muttering a simple hex, he thinly sliced Abraxas's arm, startling him.

The creature's head snapped towards his arm at once, greedily drinking the offering. A large wave of pleasure shot up from Abraxas's arm, plunging him into a dizzying haze. After a prolonged moment of feeding, the creature finally released him.

Wobbling, the young aristocrat was led to a nearby chair after the mess was banished, still in a dizzying, drowsy haze.

"_Grind...wald... forces...wiped...treaty..."_

He was _so_ sleepy.

"_Vampires...failed..."_

After catching a few more snippets of his parents' conversation, Abraxas finally succumbed to the welcoming darkness, not before seeing a flash of worried, emerald eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for reviewing—especially the dude that left the review "good." Warms my heart that you think that my story is good.

I looked up the dates of Tom Riddle's graduation, year of Grindelwald's defeat, blabla, time constraints are nonexistent in my realm of imagination. Anyway, here you go.

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><p><em>Chapter 2:<em> **Friend**

**.**

_Malfoy manor, 1943._

**.**

"_The boy,"_ Lucretia Malfoy softly murmured, as she watched the ashen, mud-covered, blood-stained creature turn in his fitful, potion-laded sleep, "is he part of Grindelwald's plans?"

She turned her pale, blue eyes towards to the current Lord of the House of Malfoys, Septimus Malfoy, who only glanced tiredly at the little creature in response. Heaving a great sigh, Septimus grasped the neck of a blood replenishing potion with his lacerated hand before tilting it to his chapped, pallid lips.

Lucretia watched his languid movements with patient silence as he drank his fill from the delicately curved bottle.

Satisfied, he tiredly set the bottle back on the ebony-carved nightstand, as the potion gradually rejuvenated him. Slowly, he shifted his position from his seat to face his wife. A flash of resignation appeared in his eyes as he spoke the one word that had her quivering in trepidation.

"_No."_

His face grave, he leaned over to gently brush the inky, damp strands of the creature's hair from it's face, before staring intently at the etched, complex marking on the side of it's forehead. Careful, as to not rouse the creature from it's slumber, he examined the mark closely. The marking seemed fresh, as the skin was red from inflammation and crusted with dried, coagulated blood.

"I had not seen these when I took him," the lord murmured, "I was—"

"_Why_ is he here," Lucretia urgently interrupted, beseeching the answer she desperately wanted, "If he is not part of our Lord's plans, then why did you take him here?"

Glancing at her in minor annoyance, he lightly released the creature's chin before straightening his tattered, stained robes. Unclasping the torn cloak from his shoulders, he set the particle of clothing on the arched arm of his deep green seat before turning tersely to his wife.

"As you recall, today was the date of our meeting with," he sneered, "the _vampires_. In order to create a formal alliance, we needed to settle on certain...agreements within the contract, of which the Vampire Lord was not in favor of. He particularly put an emphasis on independence and...neutrality...on the issue of the war ignited within wizardkind."

Septimus thinned his lips, taking out a damaged, rolled parchment from his robes, before placing it roughly on the nightstand. The parchment unraveled itself, loose from the lack of restraints. Before the ends of the scroll could completely touch the end of the marble floor, Lucretia gasped.

A long, etched blood marking of the Vampire Lord was slashed rather chillingly on the parchment.

"The Lord of Vampires," Septimus continued, tapping the parchment firmly, "pulled one of our envoys from the side to, rather crudely, slash his neck."

Recalling the pure horror that painted the face of the hapless wizard, the eldest Malfoy grimaced. He remembered those petrifying golden orbs, glowing with power— and that sadistic grin on the aristocratic, sharp features of the Vampire Lord as he held the bloodied, decapitated remains of his victim. Septimus tightly grasped the parchment, his knuckles white from the feeling of helplessness and frustration.

"Using the envoy's blood, he swiftly etched the page with," he unrolled the rest of the parchment deftly, before shifting it towards his wife's view, "this mark."

The etching was done in a swift, almost elegant fashion, as the strokes were crisp and precise. The blood was dark, almost eerily so as it dried in a pattern that resembled a type of runic symbol.

"Three slashes, and two curved marks on each side," Lucretia started, quavering, "like a devil's mark."

Septimus nodded. "A symbol akin to the Nordic symbol of death, I presume." With a quick movement of his wand, he stored the parchment inside a warded compartment of the private chambers.

"In response to the Vampire Lord's actions, we sought to flee, due to the fact that it was the vampire's own environment, and that we brought so few delegates due to diplomatic constrictions. However, there were runic wards that prevented disapparation. A few more of our delegates fell from the onslaught."

Subconsciously, the Malfoy Lord brushed over his gilded totem attached to his dragonhide belt.

"As a last resort, we used our portkeys."

Lucretia quickly glanced over to the creature, her gloved arms twisting her fingers in minor irritation, before focusing on her husband again. Septimus knew that she was growing impatient, waiting to know how the creature factored into this.

Unfazed, he continued. "Naturally, our Lord Grindelwald was furious. In retribution, he gathered a rather significant amount of followers in order to stage an attack on one of the known direct-blood covens of the Vampire Lord Aurelius. After our Dark Lord ruthlessly tore down the runes that warded the expanse of the coven, we attacked immediately. We needed one of his kindred as a bargaining tool."

Septimus sighed, stepping towards his seat again only to slump rather currishly in it. He leaned his temples to his knuckles, closing his eyes. "Aurelius knew of the attack, as he viciously fought our forces back. I was heavily injured, and turned to apparate, only to discover that the wards were reinforced with the appearance of the Vampire Lord. Our forces fled to escape the ward's vicinity. I couldn't get very far due to my injured state—but with the various, scattered blood staining the coven's land, it was difficult for them to track me with just my scent."

Opening his eyes again, he pursed his lips, staring intently at his tattered, soiled robes. "I sought refuge in the nearby forest, just near the perimeter of the wards, until I saw _him_." Septimus returned his gaze to the messy-haired, slumbering boy. As if sensing those watchful eyes, the creature's wings shivered as he turned in his covers.

"He was clutching the remains to what I believe to be a humanoid female. As I examined the body, I deducted that she did not seem to have the characteristics of a common vampire. Furthermore, there was a circle of etched runes around the corpse and the child-creature..."

He remembered the overwhelming misery that was expressed in the boy's tear-stained gaze, and the quiet sobs that racked his wing-sheltered, small frame._ 'How long was the child isolated for in such an uninviting forest?' _He had thought, before becoming entrapped in his beautiful, emerald pools.

"So you took him," Lucretia stated bluntly, abruptly drawing the worn aristocrat out from his memories, "you took an unknown creature into _our home _and fed him _our son's_ blood." Her eyes shone with calm, deceptive fury.

"I know he isn't part of our Lord's plans," he said quietly, "but this creature—this child...he is unique. Surely you felt his power when you entered the chambers."

The graceful woman furrowed her brows in consternation, recalling those bright, emerald orbs and the tantalizing, whispery tendrils of dark magic that languidly caressed her core. The magic was provocative...tenebrous, yet absent of the insidious malignity that usually accompanied the Dark Arts.

"You want to control that power," she finally stated, her pale blue eyes boring into her husband's ruminating profile, "you want to mold him into a weapon."

The man's answering silence confirmed her doubts, as his stony face and tightened grip on the arm of the mahogany seat revealed it all to her.

"You don't even know what he is!" the woman snapped, decisively making her displeasure apparent. "Must you endanger our family with your perilous ambitions!" Her voice rose with every word, as each syllable out of her thin lips were weighted with the extent of her frustrations. "Have you not had your fill of the destruction that follows such plight?"

Her elegantly laced shoulders, tense from her anger, slowly receded as she took in an elongated, shuddering breath, only to release it tiredly.

"I would not like to see our family hurt again." She weakly admitted.

A heavy silence filled the air, as both parties morosely came to a grave understanding. Lucretia took the time to move closer to her spouse, the ends of her silk evening gown trailing smoothly behind her delicate steps as she gingerly took his squalid hands into hers.

"I, personally, had my fill of Grindelwald's torturous ways," she continued brokenly, as strands of her golden hair fell softly on her downcast face. "Should the Dark Lord know of your betrayal, he would not be satisfied until he causes you irrevocable grief."

Septimus wearily smiled, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You should not be worried."

She leaned into his touch."How could I not, when your actions fall under madness?"

Staring into her troubled eyes, he squeezed her hand in response, soothingly tracing circles on her gloved palms.

"I do not wish to return him to that deathly place, alone and left to rot. I cannot imagine the torment he was most likely subjected to. His eyes, Lucretia..." He trailed off, his grey eyes staring at the luminescent moon through the exquisitely arched windows, "I've never seen such anguish in a child's eyes before."

"But what of Grindlewald," she reminded with a faint frown, "would he not seek vengeance with the knowledge of your actions?"

Septimus shook his head. "The Dark Lord is falling," the man replied, "there is something we all feel...his mind—it's ravaged. With his precarious plans and quests... I fear that it will all soon come to a close for the dark side. But with this boy..."

He closed his eyes, feeling the enticing, dark power simmering beneath the blood-sullied creature's skin. "I feel that he is destined for something, much, much more."

.

_"Men ought either to be indulged or utterly destroyed, for if you merely offend them they take vengeance, but if you injure them greatly they are unable to retaliate, so that the injury done to a man ought to be such that vengeance cannot be feared."_

_-Machiavelli_

_._

_._

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><p>"<em>He is your son! Your blood kin! Have you gone mad?" She seethed. Her obsidian eyes, blood-shot from the tears of frustration and immense sadness, glared heatedly at the man before her. <em>

"_You know that he should not exist." The pale-skinned, dark-haired man replied, his golden eyes glinting in the moonlight. "It was a mistake. You know that he is dangerous for the both of us. He does not belong, and definitely cannot stay this coven. Aurellius had already stated his concerns..." _

"_You will not take him away from me!" She shrieked, her ebony wings fanning out behind her. "Come, Harry," she grabbed his arm, tugging him to her lavender-clad chest, "we do not need this coven to survive in this world."_

_As Harry wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders, his luminescent green eyes pierced through the night as he turned his gaze to his father. _

"_You cannot leave," the aristocratic man quietly warned, golden eyes boring into her own dangerously, "I won't let you."_

_And all he could see was red._

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><p>.<p>

Harry frantically woke up, sweating profusely as he clenched his deep, sea-green sheets to his chest. Covering himself with his feathery wings, he curled into a fetal position, tightly shutting his eyes, sobbing as he realized that he was still covered with her blood and scent.

"Are you alright?" Came a soothing, masculine voice.

His eyes snapped open as he shot up, quickly backing into the headboard of the luxurious bed. The regal looking, fair-haired man, clad in a deep-blue, exquisitely bespoken robe held both of his hands up in a calming, pacifying gesture. "I am not going to hurt you," the man said softly as his eyes gazed reassuringly into his.

After a prolonged silence, the man stepped closer to the bed. Harry gripped his sheets in apprehension, his small feet sliding onto the sheets as he tried with no avail to push himself farther away from the unknown man.

"Were you having a nightmare?" The man started again, seating himself on the mahogany chair next to the boy's bed. "You were tossing restlessly in your sleep."

The ashen boy continued to be silent, breaking eye contact as he shakenly focused his attention to his surroundings. They sat like that for tense, few minutes, before the man ventured again.

"My name is Septimus. I took you from there because we were both in danger." He set his hand on the sheets, startling the boy with his proximity as his wings flared out in response. "I want to help," the aristocrat beseeched, "I know that you have gone through many difficulties, and I at least want to alleviate some of your fears by providing a place of safety."

After warily observing the man, Harry finally decided to respond. "...Why do you want to help me?" he croaked, voice hoarse from his raw, agony-filled screams.

The pure-bred wizard stared at him for a moment, his grey eyes flickering with an unreadable expression before darkening. "I saw what happened to that woman. Was she your mother?"

A flash of long flowing, ebony hair followed by a warm, loving smile flitted through his memories.

"Yes," he whispered brokenly.

Septimus took the chance to warmly embrace the boy, shocking the creature as he was engulfed with a comforting scent of pine and musk.

"We share the same fates, you and I, in our need to survive in such a desolate time," he said quietly, carding his hands through the boy's matted curls, "When I escaped with you, I only meant to spare you from the death that awaited you. I'm sure she would have never wanted you to stay with her soulless shell."

He paused, peering down at the trembling boy that was now clutching his embroidered robes.

"You can have a home here," he continued softly, "I can teach you how to grow stronger—how to defend yourself against the kind of people who hurt you and her."

He gently grasped the boy's chin to turn his gaze towards his own, coaxing the boy to see the extent of his sincerity and wilfulness.

"Will you let me?" He implored, "Will you stay?"

Determined emerald eyes stared back at him in response.

_**"Yes."**_


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews, guys. Reviews are my favourite to read. It makes me want to write more, and it makes me feel bad if I don't. Feeling bad is a good way to goad me into writing more. However, I cannot answer the questions asked in the reviews. You will just have to find out the answers yourself as the story progresses. Must I spoil my own story?

Also, I am currently a full time student and worker. I get home around 11pm and wake up at 8am. My weekends are homework-filled. I'm very busy (and poor, unfortunately), but I'll try my best to update.

I ALSO HAVE THE FLU. I FEEL SO DYING RIGHT NOW. AAARHGgggghhhhhhhh but I already started this chapter.

Anyway, enjoy.

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><p>.<p>

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After the boy's assent, the Malfoy Lord began to guide the child to one of the bathing chambers in order to be rid of the grime that almost entirely covered the child.

The Malfoy Manor had various bathing rooms, each with their own massive, golden pools and impressively stained, Gothic-arched windows that showcased a myriad of impressive images in a variety of vibrant colours. Colour-stained sunlight was something that Septimus loved.

And Septimus had always loved beautiful things.

Subtlety gilded, tasteful things. Arched, intricately carved furniture and décor suited his fancy, and his garden flourished with rare herbs, colourful blooms, and rare creatures that spread across his vast landscape. He was adamant to make his landscape something out of a fantasy, having a magically carved pond that glistens in the moonlight surrounded by weeping willow trees as soft, miniscule lights gently drifted about. He just _loved_ things that looked like it came from an impressionist painting.

But nothing could ever compare to a being so perfect, so _ethereal_ that it left him utterly speechless, wide eyed and worshiping.

He was a beautiful creature, with his sooty lashes and his plush, ruby lips.

With every gentle caress of rose-infused bathwater, revealed the bewitching creation beneath. As the grime, blood, and soil were slowly washed, and as the warm, scented water cascaded down the child's smooth skin, Septimus could only compare it to the finest ivory. The creature's wings were soft and delicate, and seemed to banish any light from its inky depths, just like his graceful, dark curls that lightly curves and ends at his elegant, angular chin.

"What is your name?" The Malfoy Lord dazedly murmured, brushing the fae-like child's damp locks away to reveal an alluring set of viridian eyes, one still marred by that intricate pattern that mystified him.

The boy looked down shyly, his eyes determinedly glued to the wavering reflection of the refined man staring down at him, unused to such attention.

"My...my name is Harry."

"Harry." Septimus repeated, nodding as he did so. His tied, impeccably straight shoulder-length locks faintly brushed against his damp, tailored vest as he kneeled over the child to wash more of the grime off his face and hair. Harry sighed in contentment, closing his eyes at the warm sensation. The blond man's immaculate dress robes were on the floor next to him, haphazardly discarded in favour of rolling up his once straight, unwrinkled dress shirt to bathe the child. His house elves would have a fit seeing him undone like this.

"A surprisingly simple name for a creature like you, but somehow it fits...however..." he trailed off, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, pausing his soothing, circular ministrations on his hair. "Just Harry?"

The boy paused, frowning, before opening his eyes. He seemed to be pondering something, as his eyes flickered with apprehension and nervousness as he pursed his lips.

"_Just Septimus?_" The boy replied, poorly attempting to imitate the man's playful tone. Instead, it came out as an awkward, trembling question.

Septimus let out a good-natured laugh, pleasantly surprised that the boy was even attempting to open up to him.

'_He is such a brave, remarkable child.' _Septimus thought,_ 'Harry's attempt at jesting astounds me, as his ability to even think coherent, positive thoughts after the irrevocable, insidious things that must have happened to him.'_

"Well, if you must know, my full name is Septimus Malfoy. May I ask of yours?"

The child stared at him for a prolonged moment, his deep viridian eyes boring into his own grey ones before quietly uttering, "_Visconti_."

"Visconti…? Direct line of Aurelius?"

"My father's last name was Visconti." The boy repeated, making it clear in his tone that he did not want to venture further.

Septimus, getting the message, continued to bathe him in silence.

He would be a dangerous snake, with his iron-willed determination and seemingly infinite endurance for such immense affliction.

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><p>.<p>

.

After both Septimus and Harry cleaned up, they moved to the parlour to have breakfast. As Harry entered the tastefully sea-green decorated, gilded room, bright sunrays warmed his face. The room was naturally lit by the tall, wide, arched windows, framed by deep emerald curtains that was pulled away to pour in the beginnings of the soft, golden-red morning. In the centre of the room sat an elegant woman with blonde hair, pulled loosely into a stylish bun. She stood up when they entered, her pale blue, embroidered dress flowing behind her as she lightly clicked her silver heels on the pristine, marble floor.

"Harry," Septimus started, gracefully motioning to his spouse, his platinum cuffs glinting in the warm glow, "this is my wife, Lucretia Malfoy."

Harry nervously shifted his gaze to her blue ones, subsequently bowing awkwardly. He was dressed in a crisp, dark green collared shirt under silver-lined, black vest and trousers. His robe was the same colour of his shirt, shrunk impeccably to his size by the house elves. The bespoken robes had parallel slashes on the back for his lithe wings, lest it would be uncomfortably bunched up. The servants had to temporarily find clothes to fit him until they personally visit Twillfit and Tattings for the young ward.

"It's nice meeting you," he said quietly, tightly grasping Septimus' intricate navy robes for comfort.

A small chuckle was heard from Septimus as Lucretia peered down at Harry, her lips quirked up in a small smile. As, she leaned forward, bending slightly towards him, the warm, encompassing rays of sunlight made the loose strands of her hair seem like golden, silken threads, connected to the woven, spun spools that were finely wrapped at the base of her elegant neck.

"And I you, Harry."

It was in that moment that Harry felt _safe _and so very much _warm_. As he looked up to meet her crystal, crinkling eyes, he saw the soft, blurred halo of light that reflected off her gilded head. The sight of such intake of light made him slightly wince, but it took none of the beauty he witnessed away. In her eyes were no trace of harsh judgment—no distasteful scowl at the sight of a bastard child, no _hate _that utterly made him feel so small and insignificant, as if he was lower than trash.

He hoped that this sort of warmth would not be taken away so soon, as with the others.

Flushing from the attention, the small boy chose to hide his cherubic face behind the fair-haired man's lavish robes. Undiscouraged, Lucretia returned to her refined pose, smiling at the child's shyness.

_What a sweet, wonderful child._

"Come, let us have some breakfast," she started, "we shall talk about your living situation after we are sufficiently filled and watered." At the snap of her fingers came several house elves, each with various plates of food filled with different types of hors d'oeuvres, pastries, scones, waffles, and the like. Shuffling together in a neat, practiced, and organized fashion, the elves set up the table in an impressive, polished way. The plates were exquisitely presented, each showcasing bright, vivid colours ornately framed by herbs and pastel flowers, set up to tease the senses with its breath-taking aromas picturesque presentation.

And Harry, in short, was amazed. Gaping at the amount of food, colours, and aromas, he couldn't help it when his stomach let out a rather large rumble. He subsequently blushed, greatly mortified at his stomach's embarrassing show of hunger.

The graceful woman just smiled, and motioned him to come sit, while Septimus grinned.

"Do not fret, Harry," the man consoled, "it is a natural course of life—hunger."

It eased his embarrassment somewhat, as he sat down to delicately take a bite out of a strawberry scone. To his delight, it was extremely delicious, which caused him to hungrily eat rather quickly, grabbing more morsels as he finished. The Lady and Lord of the house did not seem to mind his careless behaviour, and seemed to find amusement from it.

_So he can eat other things than blood, after all._ Septimus mused.

"Tea, my dear?"

Harry paused in his quest to inhale all the morsels from the table, his pink tongue peeking out from his scone-stained lips as he licked his fingers, before letting out a slight hiccup. Staring at Lucretia like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes wide, glimmering, and vividly green, he violently blushed again.

"Y-yes…I would—" another hiccup, "love some."

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><p>.<p>

.

A heavy slam of the mahogany double doors brought three pairs of eyes to rest on a panting, slightly flushed, navy-clad young heir. His platinum locks were mussed, haphazardly tied to the side with a classic black ribbon as his grey eyes wildly sought for his parents.

"Father! Mother! I had the most bizzare dre—" he paused, eyes widening at the winged _thing_ sitting _right next to his parents,_ daintily dabbing the corner of his lips with a silken napkin as if he belonged there in the first place.

Scandalized, he pointed a manicured finger accusingly to the boy, sputtering at the mere incredulity of it.

"Y-you! You—the _thing! _What in the world _are you?_ Why are you here?"

Lucretia glanced at her son, eyebrows raised at his rather crude manners. "Abraxas," she started curtly, "meet your future brother, Haedus Caph Malfoy, son of the deceased Cassiopeia Black and Slyvain Voclain, a pure-blooded man from a minor family in France."

"B-but Cassiopeia had no kids!" Abraxas screeched, wondering why it was considered normalcy to have an unknown, blood-sucking creature in the house. "And certainly had no _creature_ blood in her!"

"_Abraxas."_ Septimus' booming voice stopped his son's allegations mid-tirade, as he had grown weary at the high-pitched, bordering on hysterical tone that his son started to adopt.

"To _others_, he is the son of Cassiopeia Black. He shall carry her name, Caph, as part of her constellation, and Haedus, for the constellation of Auriga. He is her," he paused, ruminating on the possible backstory as to warrant the appearance of a young child in the pureblood midst, "recently relinquished child, as the Voclains have kept him hidden after her death. Cassiopeia was closest to Lucretia, and was the only one to be told of the pregnancy, as she was a very secretive, isolated person."

Septimus continued, undeterred, "We shall cast the blood adoption in two weeks' time, under the night of Samhain, where the magic bonds will be the strongest."

"This is madness." Abraxas shakenly stated. "Does anyone know? Does the _Dark Lord_ know? Why should you all—we—risk our lives for some…some…_thing_?"

Harry fumbled with his napkin, looking down at his finished plated ashamedly. His lips were quivering as his eyes glistened with unshed tears, obviously upset with the callous label of his being.

Lucretia suddenly stood up, her petite frame poised with pseudo-tranquillity as her lightning-blue eyes blazed with fury. "We risk our lives for our future—our family. Yes, we serve the Dark Lord, but we are not a family that would not offer help to an abandoned, helpless child if we can so help it. I _tire_ of the fear that accompany Grindelwald's wake. I tire of the destruction, the hate, and the danger. I understand that the Malfoys does whatever it takes to survive, but I would never lose my dignity, nor my morals, in the face of a dying child."

She sighed tiredly. "And it takes your father to remind me of the morals I've almost forgotten in the wake of my fear."

The mentioned man gently covered her hands as she sat back down, warmly smiling at her honesty.

He turned to Abraxas, giving him an expectant look, before turning to regard the trembling child wringing his fingers together in morose apprehension.

The young heir bit his lip, before stepping closer to the table. By the time he was at face level with the black-haired child, Abraxas noticed that he was still determinedly looking at his plate; the only evidence of his sorrow was shown through the droplets of tears that continued to shower his utensils and napkin pityingly.

_Oh,_ Abraxas thought, _must I feel so much like the villain?_

"Haedus." He soothingly put a hand on Harry's shoulder. His wings stiffened in response.

Abraxas gulped, before continuing. "I apologize for my insensitive behaviour. I simply did not know of the situation…" he trailed off, bending slightly towards the smaller boy in hopes of gaining his attention.

"I simply was confused, and scared, of the possible danger that we would be in…I was selfish. I hope that you can understand that I truly mean no harm. I would only be happy to be your brother."

Harry sniffed, before lifting his sorrowful glistening eyes to Abraxas. The young heir sucked in his breath, surprised at the boy's stunning looks and exquisite emerald orbs.

"Do you really mean it?" He replied adorably, with his trembling lips and glassy eyes.

"_Yes_," Abraxas breathed, momentarily stunned by the charming looks and endearing gaze, "I do."

Septimus grinned at the exchange.

_Dangerous indeed._

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_2 weeks later, Samhain, 1943._

_._

_._

"This is the remains of Cassiopeia's blood after I extracted some for her fertility test." Lucretia stated, her pale hands holding a circular flask with a narrow neck. Engraved on the flask was the elegant name, 'Cassiopeia Black.'

The runes were drawn carefully onto the chamber's floor in preparation for the blood adoption. Harry stood awkwardly in the middle of it, his wings nervously shifting around as he wrung his fingers together. A nervous habit he did not yet grow out of.

"Good." Septimus murmured, finalizing the last marking. "It was only luck that she sought us to confirm herself as barren, without anyone else knowing, of course."

Abraxas was not presently needed for the ritual, as he was just a scion, so he took to waiting in the dining room. He was not pleased, however, as he wanted to witness the ritual himself. With a sharp command from Septimus, and a glare from Lucretia, he was banished from the room with a huff.

As Lucretia mixed the blood potion, Septimus began to recite the lines.

"I, Septimus, Lord of the House of Malfoy, bear witness to the blood adoption of Cassiopeia Black, under the night of Samhain, of Harry Visconti."

Harry promptly drank from the ancient goblet passed to him by Lucretia, tremoring as he did so.

"May he be renamed as Haedus Caph Black, for the constellations honouring Cassiopeia Black."

A wave of magic poured over Harry, languidly caressing his core as it did so. It then dissipated, leaving lingering traces around his body.

"I offer myself, Septimus Malfoy, to Haedus Caph Black as his mentor, guardian, and father. May he be entered to my family as Haedus Caph Malfoy."

Another wave of bonding magic tightened over Harry's form, growing stronger with each incantation.

"I offer myself, Lucretia Malfoy, to Haedus Caph Black, as his caretaker, guardian, and mother. May be entered to the family as Haedus Caph Malfoy."

As each member of the ritual drunk from the goblet, the magic expanded, growing exponentially, blindingly stronger until it collapsed into itself, massively draining their magical cores in the process. Panting, heavily exhausted and drained, Harry could see the dark, alluring tendrils of magic floating slowly around them, connecting them, before succumbing to the darkness that poured into his core.

.

.

.

Breathe.

.

.

_ Breathe._

_._

_._

_** Breathe.**_

_**.**_

"_Harry."_

_._

His eyes snapped open, shocked as he woke to an eerie pair of ruby-specked, violet eyes.

"I was worried that you stopped breathing, it would have been such a waste of an effort, after all." The owner of the unique violet eyes chuckled as he stood up, offering his pale, elegant hand in assistance. He had sharp, aristocratic features, with sleek dark hair, thin lips, and a wiry frame. He was dressed in a simple black robe, the ends of it billowing in the wake of the vast atmosphere.

Harry, confused, took the proffered hand. As he was pulled up, the boy finally realized his surroundings.

It was amazing, to say the least. There were massive, meteorite-like, red and black rocks floating above him, lazily spinning in a small orbit. Other rocks of smaller shapes spun around him, lethargically orbiting around the space. The craters of the rocks held small, dark creatures, almost like shadows. Their tiny wings flapped behind them, watching Harry curiously from above. The seemingly endless skies were an elaborate mixture of red, orange, and purple, each with different shades of darkness. As he wandered around, a small rock almost collided into his head as he ducked, his messy hair flaring about in the place as if gravity was not a concept here. He can visibly see the dark magic that held the place, the wispy tendrils knotting and unknotting with each other, languorously interacting as it held the dimensional wards together.

The platform he was standing on was unevenly paved, dusty and black. It shifted restlessly, as if not knowing, not wanting to be placed in a certain time.

Harry took in a calming breath and closed his eyes. It was a place that was calming, yet eerie—how can a place be so comfortable yet unsettling at the same time?

All that he knew, was that he was _not_ in the private chambers of the Malfoy mansion.

"_You've grown so beautifully,"_ the mysterious man murmured, his voice echoing through the vast space.

Harry turned around, his eyes wide, seeking the owner of the voice that suddenly disappeared as he was examining the area.

The man appeared in front of him, playfully tapping the runic engravings on the left side of his forehead. It mildly tingled and glowed with his touch, making Harry shudder in a mixture of pleasure and apprehension of the unknown.

"_When she gave me your soul to be saved," _the man started, caressing his face lovingly, before embracing him wholly. Harry didn't turn away. It felt…so right. _"I almost thought to refuse."_

"_But when I saw your soul…it was so vibrant, so beautiful…I could not help but to take it. And you, my sweet, gorgeous, little devil, would come to visit me on the night of Samhain…"_

The handsome, mystifying man grinned darkly, abruptly spinning Harry around. _"For that, I give you a gift…"_

He ran a finger sensually along the spine of Harry's back, making him shiver and arch in delight, before tracing runic symbols around the root of his wings. It lit up for a brief moment, before dissipating.

With a serene expression, he once again shifted Harry around, his violet orbs boring into his emerald ones. He was watching Harry with an expression of infatuation and obsession, almost worshipping Harry's image.

After brushing his messy curls away from his face, the man leaned over to hover his lips over his.

"_I would do anything for my little devil,"_ he whispered, before locking his thin lips with Harry's supple ones.

.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"_Harry!" _

His eyes once again snapped open, startled by the feel of soft lips against his own. He subconsciously held his fingers to his lush lips, as if disbelieving of the event that had passed. Who was that man? Where was that place? What did he do? A plethora of questions cluttered his mind as he shakenly stood up from the runic circle, dizzy from the magical drain on his immature body and the relentless headache that pounded his head.

"Are you alright?" Lucretia worriedly asked, draping a comforting fur robe around his shoulders. His wings curled around him in response.

"Y-yes…" Harry replied, still gingerly sore and befuddled by the previous events. "I think I am."

Septimus stared at him inquisitively, probing his body for any changes. "The blood adopted worked, that I know…however…" He brushed the length of the boy's hair to the side. "Not much has changed. His blood must have been an older, much more dominant bloodline. The only sign of a blood adopted is this minor lock of hair that had turned blonde."

Septimus combed Harry's hair with his finger, as to soothe Harry's headache. True to his word, there was a whole side of blond hair that blended into his black curls. Otherwise, nothing else had changed.

"Curious." The man murmured, before pulling away. "This ritual was…much more different than the other ones I've witnessed or heard of. The type of magic that bonded us was immensely powerful and old. None of what I recognized before."

Harry stayed silent, his green eyes gleaming in the darkness, contemplating the mystery of the man that appeared in his dreamscape.

Unbeknownst to him, the runic symbols beneath the fur robe glowed, before settling into his skin.


End file.
